


Just to be quiet

by magicalcookie664



Series: Vent stuff or something [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Crying, Cutting, General Remus stuff, Hurt/Comfort, Intrusive Thoughts, Re has a plushie, Self Harm, Totally not projecting onto Remus-, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:28:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24796201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicalcookie664/pseuds/magicalcookie664
Summary: Sometimes Remus gets overwhelmed with thoughts, with emotions, with everything.The backstory behind Remus' octopus plushie.
Relationships: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders, demus - Relationship
Series: Vent stuff or something [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773316
Comments: 14
Kudos: 135





	Just to be quiet

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: The tags. Please heed the tags. 
> 
> I didn't mean for the dark turn this took ... okay maybe I did a little ?
> 
> The thoughts were initially in italics but it was a bitch so now they're not-

Remus rolls over, fixing his gaze on the dirty wall of his bedroom. He knows already that today is not going to be a good day. He feels a strange, painful lump rise in his throat, but he closes his eyes, forcing the sob down. He doesn't want to cry yet. He knows he will eventually, just not yet. Crying hurts, it hurts even more than sitting here uselessly does and he just can't handle this sort of pain right now. 

Physical pain, though? Mmm, yes please. He lives for that sort of stuff, for the rush of adrenaline it gifts him, for the moments he begins to feel just that little bit alive. But it never lasts. It's never the way it should be, for as soon as he begins feeling something he begins feeling everything, every stupid fucking emotion there is. He grows so frustrated, so upset, so terrified, so overwhelmed and he never knows what to do. Those are the times where the intrusive whispers within his head become yells, screams, demands. And god forbid he disobey those demands. 

He opens his eyes, blinking away the tears caught within his lashes hurriedly. He can't cry, not yet. But he can feel it, the unbearable weight growing within his chest, gnawing at his insides with razor sharp blade like teeth. He curls into a ball, drawing his knees under his chin as he wraps his arms around his legs. 

He's not doing too well, is he? The thought makes him snort, an empty laugh escaping him. When has he ever been doing 'well' though, honestly? He continues to stare ahead of him at the cracked green paint. Something is bubbling up inside of him, an electric wavering sensation he can't quite name. It swamps him, causes his skin to tingle and his breath to shudder as it desperately fights to control him. 

Go on, the voice hisses, claw out your eyeballs... won't they feel nice and gooey? 

What will they taste like?

He shudders, pressing his face into his knees as the words churn about inside him, thoughts surfacing in his mind every second. What if you stuck your finger so far in your ear you stabbed it right through your brain? What if you sliced up your own tongue and ate it? What if you clawed out your heart and intestines with your nails? Wouldn't they look so pretty spread out in your hands? 

He whimpers, wrapping his arms around his head. He can't make the thoughts stop. Why can't he make them stop? They're his thoughts. But they keep coming and coming and coming, assaulting him with revolting image upon image, sickening scenes playing out inside his head. 

Before he even registers what he's doing he's yanked his sleeve down, his nails pressing into his flesh as he scratches at his arm. Blood beads up from the scratches but he barely notices, switching to raking his nails along his skin, needing the pain it gives him. A line of red drips down his arm, a spot of blood staining his bedsheets. He attacks his arm with his chewed fingernails, tears filling his eyes before streaking down his cheeks in long grey lines. It's not enough. Never enough. 

He's shaking uncontrollably it's a miracle he manages to reach his chipped bedside drawers. He roots through the drawers, his breathing comping out in harsh wheezes until he finds what he wants. His blade. 

Then he's cutting again somehow, the blade slicing up his skin in the most mesmerising way. He watches the blood well up from the wounds, watches it brim over and streak down the side of his arm before dripping on to his blankets. He does it again and again, losing control slowly as he hacks at his arm with more force each time. Skin parts beneath the shiny line of the blade, gaping and red before him. He's cut deep, he knows this, but he can't quite find it in him to stop. 

Cut your throat, slit your wrists, stab the blade into your chest, skewer your brains, yank them out of your head and-

He whimpers again, the pitiful sound giving way to sobs. His grip on the blade loosens and he drops it, lowering his head as he cries, his face stained with wetness. 

He can't do it, not anymore, not again. It wouldn't be so bad, if it passed quickly, if it didn't leave scars. But it's not that simple, he's not that simple. He's a fucking mess. At least you're not boring, he thinks. Broken people are far more interesting. That's what people like, isn't it? They don't want to see your happy ever after. They want to see you suffer because it's far more fascinating, it's far more wonderful. Everyone knows what happy looks like. But sad? Sad looks a different way on everyone. Some handle it well, whilst others don't. He suspects he's not handling it well. 

At some point the door opens, but he barely registers it, too busy ripping his skin to shreds and painting himself in his blood. 

"Hey," A far off voice whispers. Yellow gloved hands rest on top of his own, stilling them. 

Remus opens his mouth to say something but all that escapes is another sob. He watches dully as the hands take the blade from him, moving it away from his grasp. 

Without the blade between his fingers, Remus begins clawing at his skin again at a ferocious pace, not caring that he's no longer alone. Why should it matter? This is what people like, isn't it, to be entertained? Well come watch the fucking show. 

"Remus," The voice says, tone stern and the owner of said voice surfaces in Remus' mind. Deceit. 

"Dee.." he whispers, whining when the other side grabs his wrists to stop him inflicting anymore damage upon himself. 

"Re, please. You need to stop," Deceit tells him, holding Re's wrists tightly even as the side begins to struggle against his grip. 

"Lemme go!" Remus demands, yanking at Deceit's iron grip. He's shaking, actions frantic, a fevered glaze in his eyes as he whines and thrashes. 

Deceit lets go, fixing Remus with a concerned look, watching carefully to see if he continues any self injurious behaviours. 

Remus curls into a ball and begins to rock backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, hoping the rhythm will allow him some sort of respite from the terrible emotions and thoughts racing through him. 

Deceit doesn't know what to do. Sure, he knows Re grows a little overwhelmed sometimes and has a tendency to harm himself but .. this? This is worse than he's ever seen him and it's scary. Without thinking he summons an octopus plushie. It's made of a green fluffy fabric and has yellow and red button eyes. 

"Re-Re," he whispers, his tone soothing. He thrusts the plushie towards the crying side, unsure what else to do. 

Re looks up, his tear filled eyes widening in surprise. "Is t-that n' oct'pus?" He manages. He's still trembling an awful amount but he's stopped swaying and his breathing is less erratic so at least that's something. 

Deceit nods, a flimsy smile forming on his face. "Yeah. He wants to give you a hug, Re," He says, his voice gentle. 

"I wan' hug h-him t-too," Re stutters, bringing the plushie into his chest and hugging it close. 

Deceit puffs out a sigh of relief at the sight set before him. He knows they're going to have to clean up Remus' arms in a little while. Not now though, not when Remus is this unstable. He takes a seat on the bed next to Re, not daring to touch him yet. It may be to early to think about physical contact. 

Remus flops back onto his pillows, curling into himself with his face buried in the soft green octopus. 

Deceit lies next to him and waits. After a few minutes he shifts a little closer to Re and whispers,"Can I touch you?" 

"Mhm.." Remus mumbled, face still pressed into the plushie. 

Deceit gently wraps his arms around Remus from behind, spooning him. 

Re makes a pleased purring sound - in this manner he can be a lot like Virgil - and leans back into the touch sleepily. "S'rry.." he mumbles. 

"It's okay, Re. You're definitely not allowed to have bad days. Everyone is." Deceit replies. 

"But M' not everyone..." Re answers, sighing,"M' evil.." 

"Good and bad are made up concepts, Remus," Dee replies softly. 

"Shh I was trying to be angsty," Remus replies," Did it work?" 

Deceit chuckles quietly, smiling to himself,"Go to sleep, Re," he orders. 

Remus makes a hissing sound but closes his eyes, the octopus clutched firmly into his chest. 

He says nothing as Deceit presses a light kiss to the top of his head. 

-

From this point onwards, the plushie became a comfort item for Remus. Whenever he felt alone or sad or overwhelmed or angry or bored or confused or scared he'd seek out the octopus and hug it tight. He doesn't remember when he began chewing it, but once the habit started it was impossible to stop. 

It became the norm for Deceit to spot Remus gnawing on the octopus. Despite the constant chewing it never wore down, keeping the same quality it had when Re was first given it. 

When Virgil left, Remus held Dee in his arms as the other side cried himself to sleep, the plushie locked between the two of them as a symbol of something more. 

When Dec- Janus left, Remus didn't cry. He just stared at the wall with the plushie in his mouth and knew that it was a bad day. He cut that night, the plushie not enough to calm him. 

But when Janus found him later on, told him he still loved him, that it would all be okay, he cried. 

When the sides finally accepted him, they accepted the octopus too, as it was such an important part of Remus. 

He named the plushie after Janus. 

**Author's Note:**

> If I wake up in the morning and see one typo my forehead will disappear -
> 
> Also my tumblr is angstyvirge -


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